“Yes, sir.”
They crossed the street and entered the ticket office of the Cortlandt Street Ferry. Paul set down the valise, while Mr. Meacham secured a ticket.
“Now, Number 91,” said the old man, “how much do I owe you?”
Paul stated the sum, and Mr. Meacham put it in his hand.
“Thank you, sir,” said Paul, touching his cap.
“Stop a minute; here is something for yourself,” said his companion, taking out a silver dollar from his purse.
Paul regarded the old man with undisguised amazement.
“Are you surprised to get so much?” asked the old man with a smile.
“Yes, sir; I—” and he hesitated.
“You thought me a poor man, perhaps a mean man?”